The Red Soldier
by Ink Spotz
Summary: This story will follow what happened to James Buchanan Barnes after he fell off the train to his supposed death to the events of Civil War and beyond.


Chapter 1

The cold crisp metal still stung his hand long after his hand had slipped free of it. A cry had escaped his lips before he even fully processed what was going on. The train was becoming further and further away by the second, and the white snow surrounding him blinded him from everything. The water that snaked through the belly of the canyon was just as cold as the burn of metal in his hand; his body tossed into it like a toy carelessly thrown into a toy box.

Another cry ripped free from his mouth as his back was sharply slammed on a rock when he first settled down; a cry that turned into a gargle soon after as his head was submerged under the midnight blue water. His body was crippled by pain and everything about him turned in a pinwheel like circle – white snow, blue water – over and over again until he felt as if he would lose consciousness. The water soon picked up its current though and belched his body out against the shore when a sharp corner appeared.

Everything was numb to him. He couldn't even feel one of his arms, and turning his half open eyes towards that limb, he felt himself gag at the sight of it. He allowed himself to close his eyes, and though his body ached and shuddered, he used his other hand to vainly try to get onto the shore. The strength was ebbing from him though, and the only thought that kept him digging his trembling hand into the snow over and over again was the thought of his best friend no doubt grieving over him right now.

A combination of many things working against him though soon had him closing his eyes, half hunched onto a frozen blanket of snow. Yet even on the brink of death, he was the perfect symbol of a fallen soldier for the United States. Red from the blood coming from his cuts, white from the crisp white blanket beneath his body, and blue from the river that left those ever smiling lips bluer than a blueberry made him become coated in the colors of his country. He was yet another fallen soldier that was about to meet his end too soon, and as he passed out, all he could remember was the carefree time before he had come to bear arms for his country.

* * *

The first thing that he registered as he began to come about was the harsh grit of the German language. It was a voice that was acidic to his frost bitten ears; elevating the pain he was already feeling. He knew what they were saying, even though they seemed to be naive enough to think that he didn't understand– if he was conscious, that was. As Bucky opened his eyes slowly, he noticed that the two German soldiers were talking to one another with their backs to him. Where was he even? His body ached terribly just moving his head a fraction of an inch to look down at his legs. His legs were lying against a small bank of snow under a tree. Snow...Trees...It was then that he started to remember the fall from the train, and drowning in the river. Or, so he thought. Obviously he was still alive. Ghosts never had this much pain, nor were argued over by German soldiers.

As he turned his head, painfully, to look at his arm, it took all he had left in him to not throw up again at the sight of it. It was worse than he last remembered before passing out. His left arm was a blackish blue, looking completely useless and worthy of amputation. He felt the bile gather in his mouth, and he had to swallow the acidic liquid before commanding himself to use his brain. Obviously he was a prisoner of war again and obviously Steve, and everyone else, would think him dead. There would be no rescue mission this time. It was just him against a mighty stack of odds. He'd have to suck it up, and figure out a way to deal with it.

Switching his gaze back to the two soldiers, he made sure both of them had their backs to him before starting to roll, trying vainly to stand up. If he could sit up and try to slip a gun from at least one of their sides, he might just be able to stand a small fighting chance. The pain was incredible as he sat up, causing stars to dance in front of his eyes. However, instead of letting the pain being overwhelming enough to make him give up, he forced himself onto his feet. Being as cold and weak as he was, his sudden rise to his feet caused him to stumble into a tree nearby. His right hand dug into the bark a bit; the tips of his fingers tingling from how numb they had become. Of course, his stagger to his feet had alerted the two German guards to his presence, and they both whipped around with their firearms at the ready.

"Stay still, soldier!" One of them shouted in brusque and butchered English.

Bucky lifted his head and made eye contact with the guard that had just barked at him. A small grin slid sideways on his face as he spat some of his blood at the snow at their feet.

"Never..."

That, of course, rewarded him with the butt of the gun to the back of his head. More stars danced in front of his face as he collapsed back onto his knees in the snow. He wasn't about to go down without a fight though, no matter how disoriented he was currently. Using his right hand as he fell down onto his knees, he tried to claw at one of the guard's legs, causing the guard to cry out in pain. Satisfied that he had at least wounded the guard in some way, he tried to do it again. This time though, a boot sole made contact with the side of his face, sending him spinning into the snow bank again.

Blood decorated his cracked lips and spilled out onto the snow underneath his head; the stars completely obscuring parts of his vision and making it slowly turn black. He could hear the crunch of footsteps nearing him again, but his neck hurt far too much to try to turn and face these people. A cruel chuckle followed the footsteps as one of the guards bent and caught his face in one of their gruff hands. Jarring his face towards theirs so he was forced to stare them straight in the face, Bucky sent them a glare of defiance. Even if he were about to die, he wouldn't give these goons the satisfaction of thinking he was going to surrender.

"He'll make the perfect soldier once we mold him...Maybe he isn't useless after all..."

His face was released then and thrust back towards the snow. As his head slammed into the icy ground, he finally passed out all the way, but not before hearing one of the guards say, "He'll be our soldier, born of the winter we found him in..."


End file.
